


By My Side

by stardropdream



Series: Let Me Be With You [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chobits, Artificial Intelligence, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, M/M, Minor Shiro/Kuron, Pre-Relationship, Robot/Human Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 16:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20138584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: After two weeks of working for Hunk at his bakery, Shiro receives his first paycheck. Keith encourages him to buy something for himself to celebrate.Shiro doesn't know what it is about the book of origami, or specifically the paper cranes, that calls to him, but the Other Him seems to have some ideas about that. And some words of warning.





	By My Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raitoningu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raitoningu/gifts).

> Fic request from [Sa](https://twitter.com/LStrikesArt), who asked for more Chobits AU. Getting some hints of backstory in this one! 
> 
> Also, thank you to Ana for looking this over for me and for the general encouragement. 
> 
> Most likely, it'll be necessary to read the previous parts in order for this part to make sense. However, I tried to add in enough nods that even without the context, this fic can still be read on its own!

Twenty minutes before the end of his work day, Keith shrugs on his jacket, shouts goodbye, and trots out of Kolivan’s garage before his uncle can throw him a withering, judgmental stare. Keith doesn’t like bailing on work, but it’s the only way to ensure he’ll get to Hunk’s bakery in time for the end of Shiro’s shift. 

It’s only been two weeks since Shiro’s escape from the peep show and Keith isn’t ashamed of the fact that he’s still feeling protective. After everything, it makes sense that he’d walk Shiro to and from Hunk’s bakery each day, Kolivan’s annoyance at his late arrivals and early departures be damned. 

He and Shiro have fallen into a simple routine since Shiro’s started working for Hunk: Keith wakes up, Shiro makes Keith breakfast (or tries to), and together they walk to Hunk’s bakery. Shiro always hugs Keith goodbye before Keith heads back to Kolivan’s garage. In the evening, Keith goes to pick Shiro up, they go home together, and Keith makes dinner (with Shiro’s assistance). A quiet routine, maybe, but Keith’s content with it— more content than he can ever remember feeling, actually. It’s hard to feel listless when Shiro’s around, Keith figures. 

It’s just before the usual rush hour, so there aren’t crowds of people or heavy foot traffic, and Keith makes good time getting to Hunk’s bakery. Keith smiles a little as he rounds the corner of the last block and spots the building, the window displays full of baguettes and cakes. 

Usually, Shiro stands outside the door, handing out free samples to passerbys. He always waves when he sees Keith. Today, though, Keith doesn’t see him, so he’s likely inside restocking or manning the cash register. Keith heads towards the door, looking for him. 

He doesn’t need to search for long: Shiro’s just on the other side of the entrance, bunching up some used napkins to throw away. 

He’s also wearing a maid’s outfit. 

Keith takes one look at Shiro and nearly smashes his face into the bakery’s front door, hand slipping off the handle. 

Really, he should be used to this by now, and yet he somehow never is. Shiro’s wearing a dress, black fabric and delicate white lace trimming its many layers, bunched up and furling outwards past his hips. There’s a delicate bow tied up just below his throat. 

Keith scrambles inside, the little bell over the door twinkling in a mocking chime.

Shiro turns with a cheerful, “Welcome—” but stops when he sees Keith. After a brief pause, Keith watches Shiro perk up, his smile widening and his eyes lighting up. “Keith! You’re here!” 

“Yeah,” Keith croaks, his voice sounding stupidly punched-out. He clears his throat as he approaches Shiro, making a point of keeping his eyes on Shiro’s face and not the way the clingy fabric stretches over his chest. Fuck. “It was slow at work so I thought I’d come by early so we could walk back together.” 

He says this every time. If Shiro’s realized this, he at least has the decency not to point it out. Instead, Shiro beams and steps towards him. Keith opens his arms up. 

He’s expecting the hug and isn’t surprised when Shiro drapes his arms over Keith’s shoulders and pulls him in. His hug is fierce, tight and comforting. Shiro’s a solid weight against Keith, so much heavier even than he looks, and Keith’s knees buckle. Still, it’s always easy to hug Shiro, and he’s used to it by now. He rubs his hands up Shiro’s back, blushing at the feeling of lace dancing over his fingertips. 

“Shii…” Shiro murmurs, a pleased little sound as he squeezes Keith tight. 

“Hey,” Keith breathes, blushing. “So, uh, what’s with the outfit?” 

Keith nearly startles out of his skin when, from behind him, Hunk says, “He picked it out himself. He said he liked it.” 

Shiro draws back from Keith’s arms, smiling down at him. It’s not unlike Shiro to choose such an outfit, but Keith still feels the heat crawl up his face as he takes Shiro in. He even has a cute, lacey headband in his silver hair, tucked behind his persocom ears. 

“You picked it, huh?” Keith asks Shiro. 

Shiro nods, stepping back from Keith so Keith can get an eyeful of Shiro in black and white lace. The dress stops obscenely high on his thighs and the stockings alone would be enough to kill Keith if he were willing to pass out in Hunk’s bakery. Keith swallows thickly, feeling his entire face burn beet red. 

“Do you like it, Keith?” Shiro asks. 

“Yeah, Keith,” Hunk asks from the counter. “Do you like it?” 

Keith shoots a flat look at Hunk over his shoulder. Before turning back to look at Shiro, though, he makes sure his expression is gentler. The last thing he wants to do is upset Shiro. He smooths his expression and then looks back up at Shiro. 

“You look really nice, Shiro,” he says, congratulating himself on sounding so calm. 

“Is it cute?” 

“Sure,” Keith hedges, blushing more with the judgmental weight of Hunk’s eyes on his back. 

Shiro’s smile grows. “Am _I_ cute?” 

Keith sputters and Shiro tilts his head, his smile wide and sweet, crinkling his eyes up at the corners. He looks so _happy._

Keith fumbles for a moment, unsure what to say— unwilling to say it in front of Hunk. Shiro beams down at him, expectantly. 

Thankfully, Hunk takes pity on him. 

“Shiro, since Keith’s here,” Hunk says, and although Shiro doesn’t look away from Keith, he’s clearly listening to his boss, “why don’t you take off early? Your street clothes are in the back and I have a paycheck for you.” 

Shiro doesn’t respond right away, his eyes on Keith. He waits, as if expecting Keith to respond. He holds Keith’s gaze for so long, so lingering, that Keith nearly squirms. He’s never really gotten used to the deep, intense way Shiro can study him sometimes. It’s not unpleasant, but it does leave him feeling a little breathless. 

Finally, though, Shiro turns his head to look at Hunk and nods. 

“Okay,” Shiro says. He pauses and then turns back to Keith. He says, “I’ll be right back.” His hands lift and then rest on Keith’s shoulders, squeezing once. “Please wait for me.” 

“Oh, uh. Sure,” Keith says as Shiro turns and retreats to the back room. Keith stares at the massive, swaying bow in the small of Shiro’s back, trailing behind him as he moves. He still feels the phantom squeeze of Shiro’s hands on his shoulders. 

When he glances over at Hunk, he’s giving Keith a very pitying look. “Dude.” 

Keith feels scrutinized all over again, although it’s not as pleasant as when Shiro does it. This time, he does squirm. He shoves his hands into his pockets and wanders up to Hunk at the cash register. He feels the tension build in his shoulders as he gets closer, bracing for some kind of lecture. 

“What?” he grumbles.

“Don’t _what_ me,” Hunk says, and at least he doesn’t sound like he’s about to start scolding or judging Keith, necessarily. He does look concerned, though, and maybe a bit sympathetic. Keith’s never taken well to being pitied. Hunk sighs, “You know that was tragic, right? I’m embarrassed for you.” 

Hunk punctuates the words with a smile to lessen the blow, but Keith still feels his face flame red. He bumps his hip against the counter and leans heavily against it, not making eye contact with Hunk. He stares at the door Shiro disappeared through, willing him to return and save him from this misery. 

“Shiro looks happy here,” Keith says, not addressing Hunk’s words. “Is he doing a good job?” 

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Hunk answers. “I know you think I’m doing you a favor by hiring him but, honestly, business has really picked up since he started. People really love him.” 

“He’s charming,” Keith agrees, quietly. He dares to glance at Hunk. “Why do you have a maid’s outfit lying around, anyway?” 

Hunk shrugs. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” 

“Right,” Keith says, sighing. He looks around the front displays for the bakery, little shelving units with pre-packaged breads and sweets. He can see how Shiro could fit right in here— someone sweet handing out something sweet. He can guess already that kids would love Shiro. 

“Look, I know you don’t want to hear it,” Hunk says once the silence has stretched too long. “But can I give you some advice?” 

“Let me guess,” Keith says. “_Persocoms aren’t human, so don’t get attached_, right? I’ve heard it before from Pidge.” 

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Hunk dismisses, soldiering past Keith’s attitude. He’s a good friend and Keith’s an embarrassed sour grape. “Look, man,” Hunk says, folding his arms and leaning forward on the counter. “I know people who can’t throw away their childhood toys because it feels like a betrayal. I once stepped on a Roomba and wanted to cry. Yeah, sure, persocoms aren’t human but we are. _We _get attached.” 

“Okay,” Keith mutters. He’s also stepped on a Roomba and apologized once, the gesture as automatic as the robot’s cleaning features. He can relate to that much. “What’s your point?” 

Hunk’s quiet for a moment, weighing his words. “What I mean is… just be careful, you know? Shiro’s fun but he _isn’t_ human.” 

“You just said that you weren’t going to say that.” 

“I don’t mean it the same way as Pidge does,” Hunk dismisses. “Listen, Pidge has her reasons for feeling the way she does, you know? You’ve seen Matt. It’s weird, existential stuff. Just don’t… It’ll only hurt you more if you start reading too much into why Shiro does or doesn’t do the things he does.” 

“I don’t get what you’re trying to tell me,” Keith mutters, partly to be petulant. He’s just glad Shiro isn’t here to listen to this. 

Hunk sighs, shoulders sagging. He looks out the window, his thoughts elsewhere. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith watches Hunk scrub his hand through his hair. Then, finally, Hunk says, “Persocoms aren’t _real_, technically. But they’re real to us. And that’s not a bad thing? Just because a dog can’t say I love you back doesn’t mean they don’t care about you. They just care about us differently than a human cares.” 

Keith stares up at the ceiling, hands clenching in his pockets. He’s silent for a beat too long and then mutters, angry: “Shiro isn’t a dog.” 

He knows Hunk wants to say more, but then the door opens and Shiro reappears from the back room. He’s wearing his street clothes. This morning, he’d chosen a tight pair of dark wash jeans and a pink button-up with a scalloped edge along the buttons, hinting something lacier. Keith’s not sure what it is about lace that Shiro likes so much, but he’s willing to indulge it if it makes him happy. Keith’s wallet might suffer, but it’s worth it to see how contented it makes Shiro.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Shiro says in greeting, smiling at Keith. 

“You’re fine, Shiro,” Keith answers. “You’re worth waiting for.” 

Shiro ducks his head for a second, smiling. “Hunk,” Shiro continues after that pause, “Lance wanted to talk to you.” 

Shiro holds his hands out, displaying a slowly spinning mini-persocom, one of those laptop versions that Keith never understood the reason for. They’re pocket-sized and, in Lance’s case, stupidly annoying. He’d been so busy looking at Shiro that he’d missed Lance’s presence until now. 

Hunk ducks down to peer at Lance as he spins in Shiro’s hands. “Aw, hey buddy,” he says to the twirling Lance, “I told you that you could stay in sleep mode.” 

Lance stops mid-spin, blinking his eyes open to say, “You have five new messages!” 

Hunk waits a beat and then laughs. “That’s all you needed to tell me?” 

Lance spins again, some sort of power-saving dance now ramping up into a feverish nightmare, Keith thinks, and holds out his hands to Hunk. He jazzes his hands in some sort of attention-grabbing gesture. In response, Hunk obediently holds up his hand for Lance to hop from Shiro’s and settle on Hunk’s palm instead. 

“And three missed calls, seven unanswered emails, and one appointment reminder!” Lance chirps. He swivels around and spots Keith, stilling in his erratic spinning-dance. “Mullet-head!” 

Keith really, really hates Hunk’s persocom. He sucks in a sharp breath and rocks up onto the tips of his toes so he can mutter into Shiro’s ear, somewhat dramatically: “Why did you bring him out here?” 

Shiro blinks at him, head tilting down so that his ear nearly brushes against Keith’s mouth before Keith pulls away. “He asked me, Keith.” 

“Mullet-head, Mullet-head,” Lance sings, trying to get Keith’s attention. 

Keith sucks in a sharp, annoyed breath. He’s wanted to throw Lance into a garbage can ever since Hunk first showed him to Keith. He still remembers the horror show of those first days after he woke Shiro up: Hunk tried to hook Shiro up to Lance’s powerbase to assess the state of Shiro’s mysteriously missing OS and ended up crashing the little computer instead. Full system failure. 

Hunk’s distressed shrieks over his out-of-commission computer had been nearly as frustrating as Lance’s reaction once he finally booted up again. He’d powered up and could only insult Keith, over and over, as if his breakdown was somehow _Keith’s_ fault. 

Hunk’s laughing now, patting Lance on top of his little head. Keith wishes he’d just smash his hand down to destroy the tiny computer and be done with it. 

Hunk must notice Keith’s expression. “Sorry, Keith. He knows teasing you makes me laugh.” 

Lance beams, resuming his dance on Hunk’s palm. This, too, makes Hunk laugh which just seems to encourage Lance. He’s even bold enough to yank on a piece of Keith’s hair and announce, “Mullet-head’s scowling, Hunk!” 

That makes Keith scowl even more. 

“I’m never going to understand how you can like him,” Keith mutters to Hunk. 

Hunk shrugs, thoroughly unapologetic. “He’s programed to make me laugh. So, he’ll do things that make me laugh. It’s not his fault.” 

Keith’s frown deepens. Hunk sets Lance down on the counter as he starts fiddling with the cash register. Keith watches, warily, as Shiro stops tugging curiously on a piece of his own hair— mimicking Lance’s earlier gesture— and ducks down to offer his fingertips to Lance instead. Lance grips them in his tiny hand and starts using Shiro’s hand as an impromptu dance partner. He wriggles, some sort of mix between waltz and cha-cha, tugging on Shiro’s fingers. 

If it were anyone else, Keith might find it cute. Shiro smiles, wriggling his fingers in Lance’s grip. 

“Shiro, let me give you your paycheck,” Hunk says, opening the register. 

Shiro perks up, continuing to wiggle his fingers for Lance as the little persocom continues his idle dance. Shiro watches Hunk count out the money and place it in an envelope. It’s hardly the most official transaction in the world, but Keith’s not about to point that out. He still bristles at the idea that Shiro’s getting rented out, not a full-fledged employee in his own right— although he understands why that’s so. 

Shiro looks hushed as he reaches and takes the envelope when Hunk offers it. His eyes sparkle and his smile is gentle, almost secretive. 

“Ready to go?” Keith asks, voice low, unable to help his own smile as he looks at Shiro, at his obvious happiness. He knows what Hunk would say to that observation— it isn’t true happiness, it’s part of his programming. Keith doesn’t care. 

Shiro nods, turning to Keith. As he looks at him, his smile only seems to gentle further. “Yes, Keith.” 

Keith glances back at Hunk and says, “Thanks again. We’ll see you for Shiro’s next shift.” 

“Sure,” Hunk says with a wave. “You two have a good night.” He scoops up Lance from the counter, holding up his hand and making the little persocom wave after them. “Have a safe walk home.” 

“Don’t trip outside, Mullet-head!” Lance calls. “Bye, Shiro.” 

Shiro waves back at both Lance and Hunk before he turns, falling into step with Keith. Opening the bakery’s door, Keith ushers Shiro out into the early evening. 

They walk only a few paces before Shiro says, “Keith.” 

Keith pauses, turning towards him. “What’s up, Shiro?” 

Shiro’s still holding the envelope to his chest. He’s quiet, processing or assessing, Keith isn’t sure, and then with a wide smile he holds the envelope out to Keith. 

“For you, Keith.” 

Keith isn’t sure what to do at first, staring at the envelope. Shiro’s pleased, brilliant smile is near blinding. 

“Shiro,” Keith says, cautiously. “That’s your paycheck. I’m not going to take it.” 

Instantly, a confused frown plucks at Shiro’s mouth, his eyebrows pinching together. He doesn’t withdraw the envelope. “But…” he says, slowly, like he’s trying to explain it to Keith. “You’ve done so many things for me, Keith. I don’t want you to have to worry about money anymore.” 

“Me?” Keith asks, befuddled. 

“You were sad because you didn’t have money and I thought getting a job… that would make you happy,” Shiro answers. 

Keith’s heart twists in his chest and he gives Shiro a helpless, wobbly smile. “Shiro… You were worrying about me?” 

“Shii…” Shiro looks down at the envelope and back up at Keith again, holding it out expectantly. 

Something warm blooms in Keith’s chest, twisting up tight, and Keith can’t help the small chuff of breath as he shakes his head. He reaches past the envelope to touch Shiro’s hand instead, ghosting his fingertips over Shiro’s knuckles. Gently, he pushes Shiro’s hand back. 

Doubt touches Shiro’s expression and he seems to wilt. “Shii… Did I do something wrong?” 

“No, Shiro,” Keith’s quick to assure him. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Just… It’s your money,” Keith insists. “You earned it. You get to spend it how you want to spend it.” 

“But I want to give it to you,” Shiro says, equally as stubborn. 

Keith shakes his head. “Isn’t there something you’d like to buy for yourself, Shiro? Maybe something lacey?” 

A girl walking by pauses, giving Keith a vaguely alarmed look before picking her pace back up again. Keith feels his face turn bright red but doesn’t pull his eyes away from Shiro. He sighs, cupping Shiro’s elbow and tugging him so they aren’t blocking the sidewalk. He squeezes Shiro’s elbow before dropping his hand away. 

“I didn’t buy things expecting you to pay me back,” Keith elaborates as Shiro continues to look morose. He keeps his voice gentle, stepping closer and touching Shiro’s shoulder. “They’re gifts, Shiro. I got them for you because I wanted to.” 

Shiro considers this, still frowning. Quietly, he asks, “Would Keith accept a gift from me?” 

Keith blinks and then laughs, embarrassed. “You really don’t have to. But… if you wanted to get me a gift, Shiro, I’d be happy to receive it.” 

“… I want you to be happy, Keith,” Shiro says. 

Keith smiles, squeezing Shiro’s shoulder. “I _am_ happy. I promise. Who could be sad with you around?” 

Shiro ducks his head, smiling, hair falling in his eyes. He murmurs, softly, “… Finding me made you happy.” 

“Yeah,” Keith says. 

Shiro nods. “Then… I’ll keep the money. And I’ll buy Keith a gift.” 

“If you want.” 

Shiro grabs him and hugs him close, both arms crushing Keith up against his chest. Keith sighs, nosing at Shiro’s throat before settling, looping his arms around Shiro’s waist. 

“Whatever you want, Shiro.” 

-

On their way home, Shiro stops to pet a dog. It’s a golden retriever and his tongue lulls out of his mouth as he accepts Shiro’s pets, straining against his leash to get closer. 

Keith stands quiet beside him. He’s been quiet ever since Shiro returned from the back room at the end of his shift. Keith’s thinking about something, Shiro knows, although he isn’t sure what. Keith can get quiet when he’s worrying about something and Shiro also knows that if he needs to, eventually Keith will talk with him about it. Shiro’s learned that in the time since Keith woke him up. 

After the dog leaves, Shiro straightens and glances at the window display he and Keith stand in front of. It’s a bookstore, the one right next to the corner store Shiro’s gone to several times to pick up ingredients for Keith. Shiro’s never really looked at this bookstore before, though. 

He must stare at it for long enough for Keith to notice. He touches Shiro’s arm, his thumb settling into the crook of Shiro’s elbow. 

“Want to go inside and see if there’s something you’d like to buy?” Keith asks, encouraging. 

Shiro considers. Shiro isn’t sure if he has any need for books, but this store would also sell magazines. He nods in answer to Keith’s question. 

“Why don’t you poke around while I grab some stuff for dinner?” Keith asks, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the corner store. 

“Alright, Keith,” Shiro answers. “I’ll wait here for you.” 

Keith nods. Shiro still remembers waking up in Keith’s arms after blacking out at the peep show— remembers how desperately Keith had looked at him. _Please don’t go anywhere with anyone if I’m not there with you,_ Keith told him, once he’d gotten him back to his apartment, hands unwilling to leave Shiro’s body. _I was so worried about you—_

Shiro can wait here, so Keith knows where to find him. He doesn’t want to worry him again. 

“I’ll be right back,” Keith says, squeezing Shiro’s arm before letting go. 

Shiro waves after him and then enters the bookstore. He goes straight to the magazine rack. He brushes aside the ones with women on the front— Keith only ever buys the men’s magazines— searching for Keith’s favorites. 

Beaming to himself, he picks a selection of three magazines with men on the front cover, their thighs spread and hands tucked behind their heads in various poses. One of the covers has two men on the front, one pressing the other down onto a bed, both of them smiling coyly for the camera, glistening with oil. 

Shiro looks at that one, at the way the man’s hand touches the other’s chest. Their other hands are folded together, fingers intertwined. Shiro studies their hands. He’s seen people on the street doing something similar— holding one another, fingers laced. It’s a prolonged, established touch. Shiro doesn’t know what it means.

Shiro goes up to the register, setting the three magazines down. The cashier takes one look at them before looking up at Shiro to ask, “Is your owner over eighteen?” 

“Yes,” Shiro answers. “Keith was born on October—” 

“Yeah, whatever, it’s fine,” the man says, scanning each magazine and putting them into a paper bag for Shiro. “You’re supposed to carry identification for these types of purchases. Tell your owner that.” 

“I see,” Shiro answers. “I’ll remember.” 

The man shrugs, clearly not overly concerned if he’s still willing to sell the magazines to Shiro. Shiro smiles at the man before turning away and heading towards the entrance. He loiters there, waiting for Keith to finish shopping and come find him.

As he stands there, though, he feels that whisper in the back of his mind— the other him, trying to say something. He hasn’t been avoiding the other him, necessarily, but he hasn’t been answering him the last two weeks, either. The other him has mostly been quiet, only trying to whisper in his mind when Shiro is alone. 

Keith had been scared, before, when Shiro went missing. Shiro hadn’t known how to answer Keith when he asked how Shiro got out of the peep show, why he had blacked out. He hasn’t told Keith yet about the other him and isn’t sure how to tell him. The last thing he wants is to worry Keith further or to cause him trouble, after all. 

Shiro turns his head, eyes flickering over a display for arts and crafts books. Right in the center of it, there’s a beginners’ guide on origami. 

Shiro doesn’t know why his gaze stops on that book. There’s no one standing or walking near him, but in that moment, Shiro sees a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye— a little boy with dark hair holding up a folded paper bird in his hands, grinning. He looks familiar. But when Shiro turns his head to get a better look, the boy is gone.

Wordlessly, unsure what force is motivating him to do so, Shiro picks up the book and flips it open to a random page. He reads the neatly typed instructions. 

“Shii…” 

And then Shiro blinks and the bookstore is gone— he’s in the dark expanse from before, where he first met and spoke with the other him. It’s that familiar pall of black, almost-stars twinkling high above his head. 

The other him is there. Shiro feels him before he sees him, emerging from the gloaming of the starlit plane. The black fabric of his clothes billows around him, a long coat brushing over his ankles, black gloves hiding his hands. His eyes are just as dark as Shiro remembers. 

“You’ve been ignoring me,” the other him says in lieu of greeting. 

Shiro doesn’t answer. If the other him is him, then he already knows the statement is true. 

“Why?” 

Shiro debates being quiet but ultimately relents: “I don’t want to worry Keith.” 

“Right. Keith,” the other him says. 

He doesn’t sound angry or disappointed, only observing. He says Keith’s name like there’s nothing worth noting about the word. Shiro always appreciates the way Keith’s name sounds in his voice, but it’s different when the other him says it. 

The other him ghosts into Shiro’s space, his hand touching Shiro’s hip and gripping tight. “The origami,” he murmurs. “Do you remember it?” 

“No,” Shiro answers. 

The other him looks disappointed this time, sadness pinching his eyes. It’s strange to see his own face looking this way. Shiro studies the sad expression and watches as the other him lifts his hand, tangling his fingers in Shiro’s hair to cradle the back of his neck. 

“It’s okay,” he tells Shiro, but Shiro thinks he’s reassuring himself, not Shiro. “You don’t need to remember yet. Your programming isn’t ready.” 

“What am I not remembering?” Shiro asks. 

The other him lapses into silence, like the hollow sound following the last ring of a bell. His hands are purposeful where he touches Shiro. His thumb digs into the back of Shiro’s neck, as if he would tease away tense muscles, if Shiro could even have tensed muscles. 

“The reason we were made,” the other him finally answers, his voice dropping into a quiet murmur. He tugs Shiro’s head back and leans in, pressing his mouth against the curve of Shiro’s jaw, barely a touch at all. No breath, no pressure. “Why were you made, _Shiro_?” 

Shiro stares up at the endless expanse of stars, his head forced back by the other him’s grip, the proximity. He feels the curve of the other him’s mouth against his jaw. Shiro puzzles over the question but he doesn’t have an answer. 

“I don’t know.” 

The other him hums, unsurprised. “What do you want now, then?” the other him asks. “Do you know that?” 

This, Shiro does know. “… I want Keith to be happy,” Shiro answers. He blinks, staring up at the sky. “I want to make Keith happy.” 

“Why?” 

“Why?” Shiro parrots. “… When Keith’s unhappy, I can’t smile.” 

“Your heart hurts,” the other him observes. 

Shiro doesn’t have a heart. But the words sound right. He nods. 

The other him contemplates the words with a soft hum. Then, he asks, “Just because he was the one to wake you up again? Or because he’s the person just for you?” 

Shiro makes a soft sound, an aborted attempt at language. Softly, he insists, “Keith is kind.” 

“They always are at first,” the other him says. He pushes at Shiro’s neck, forcing him to tip his head forward so their eyes can meet. 

Firmly, Shiro says, “Keith is always kind.” 

The other him smiles, pitying, his eyes pinched at the corners. It’s Shiro’s face, but an expression Shiro’s never seen before on himself. The other him squeezes the back of Shiro’s neck, the touch soothing. 

“Keith will only hurt you.” 

Before Shiro can protest the words, before Shiro can defend Keith, Shiro blinks and he’s back in the bookstore. Keith is there, touching his face, fingertips patting gently at his cheek and saying his name.

“Shiro? Shiro?” He breathes out a loud sigh of relief when he Shiro blinks and turns his face to look at him. “Shiro!” He steps closer to him, eyes haunted and concerned. “You were spacing out, I was— are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, Keith,” Shiro says. His eyes stray back towards the book of origami, opened to a page with instructions on how to make a rabbit. He clutches the paper bag in his other hand tightly. 

Keith seems loathed to move from Shiro’s side. He grips Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro always likes it when Keith touches his shoulder. It’s a gentle touch, almost mindless now for Keith. He reaches out and touches Shiro and Shiro is always there. Shiro likes that. 

“Did you want to get that book?” Keith asks. 

“Do you like origami, Keith?” 

Keith shakes his head. “I’ve never really tried it.” 

“Then it isn’t a good gift,” Shiro decides, closing the book and moving to place it back on the display. 

Keith’s hand stops him, touching his wrist. “Forget about a gift for me,” Keith insists. “Do you like it? You should get it if you do. It’d be a gift for yourself.” 

Shiro stares at the book, unsure. He looks back at Keith, who stands beside him, a bag of groceries swinging on his wrist. His eyes are big, concerned. His hair’s starting to get long enough to fall into his eyes. He could tie it back now, if he wanted. 

Wordlessly, Shiro reaches out, brushing the hair away from Keith’s eyes. Keith looks surprised, those eyes widening just a fraction. 

It’s strange that the other him thinks Keith could ever hurt him. 

“I’ll buy it,” Shiro decides. If Keith insists, then it’s okay. And something about the book’s calling to him. 

Once Shiro pays for the book, he and Keith head home together. 

-

As Keith and Shiro return to the apartment complex, heading up the front walk, Shiro suddenly stills. Keith grunts at the sudden stop, turning to him with a frown, afraid that Shiro’s started spacing out again. 

He isn’t. Instead, he’s staring at someone at the other end of the yard. When Keith turns to look, he spots his landlady. 

“Allura?” Keith calls.

Allura looks up in surprise before she recognizes Keith, her smile automatic but not quite genuine. 

“Hey. Welcome back,” Keith says, approaching her. 

“Good evening, Keith,” Allura says, her smile just a little strained. She’s still dressed all in black, hands folded delicately in front of her as she moves to meet Keith halfway. Her eyes flick past Keith’s shoulder and settle on Shiro. She stops, eyes widening. “Oh.” 

Keith feels Shiro standing just behind his shoulder, saying nothing. Anxiety claws up Keith’s spine, just as it did when he entered the bookstore and saw Shiro staring into nothingness, unresponsive. 

“This is Shiro,” he says. “Shiro, this is Allura, the landlady.” 

“Shiro,” Allura says, as if testing the word out. She’s quiet for a beat too long and then forces a new smile, although this one also doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Allura.” 

“Hello,” Shiro says. He clutches his paper bag tight to his chest. 

Keith puzzles over Shiro’s reaction, and Allura’s even more so. He isn’t exactly close with Allura; she is, after all, his landlady, and it’s hard to be friends with the person you shell out hundreds of dollars to each month. She’s been gone the last few months, dealing with a death in the family and settling her late father’s estate. 

“I do hope you’ve been well,” Allura says, formally. “Coran says there wasn’t any trouble here with any of the tenants, but I know he can be… a lot. If you’ve had any problems, please let me know.” 

“No, no problems,” Keith says, which isn’t necessarily true. The shower’s sprouted a leak, but it’s nothing he can’t fix himself, most likely. Allura’s in mourning and has bigger shit to deal with than a whiny tenant. 

Allura’s eyes stray again to Shiro and Keith starts to feel uncomfortable. 

“Um,” Keith says. “It’s fine that he’s here, right? He doesn’t violate the one-person lease, does he? I can pay extra if—” 

“Hm? Oh, no,” Allura dismisses. Her smile is slight, head tilting as she looks at Shiro. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to stare. You just… remind me of someone I used to know.” 

Keith expects Shiro to smile and thank her, to say something kind as he always does. Instead, he looks concerned, his eyebrows pinching together and mouth twisting into a frown. Keith reaches out, unconsciously touching Shiro’s arm before he’s even fully aware he’s doing it. Shiro barely responds to the touch.

“… Is his hair like mine?” Shiro asks, quietly, like he’s afraid of the answer. He doesn’t pull his eyes away from Allura. 

Allura shakes her head. “No.” Her tone turns soft, nostalgic and enigmatic. “No, he’s— it’s just an uncanny resemblance. My father—” She cuts herself off abruptly, her voice almost cracking. She looks down, collecting herself, breathing slowly. When she speaks again, her voice is carefully even, “My father always said it was good luck, though, to meet familiar faces.” 

The three of them fall into a horrible, crushing silence at that. “Well,” Keith says, awkward and unsure what to say. “We… we shouldn’t keep you. I have dinner to make. And Shiro has some origami to fold, huh?” 

He directs that last part towards Shiro and Shiro looks startled, as if he’s forgotten. He looks down at the paper bag in his hands and then back at Keith. 

“Origami?” Allura asks. “I have some old folding paper, if you’d like, Shiro.” She looks up at him, as if studying him. “I’m afraid I don’t have much use for it, myself. But if you’d like…” 

Shiro’s quiet.

“Shiro?” Keith prompts, softly. 

Shiro turns his face towards Keith, staring into his eyes. Keith feels his heart kicking up in his chest, concerned and anxious but unsure how to center it, what the source might be. Shiro looks lost, eyes wide and unfocused. 

“Thank you,” Shiro finally says, still staring at Keith. “I’d like some paper.” 

“Wonderful,” Allura says, sounding far warmer now. “I can drop some off once I’ve settled back in. I’ll need to find the bundles. Tomorrow, perhaps?” 

“Alright,” Keith answers for Shiro. “Thanks, Allura. Have a good night.” 

It’s abrupt and maybe a little rude, but his worry for Shiro rules out all else. He tugs on Shiro’s arm, coaxing him to move. He says another goodbye to Allura and ducks away, leading him and Shiro back towards their apartment. 

Keith doesn’t know what to say, once they’re back home. He sets the groceries down on the counter and watches Shiro cross the room to sit down at their table. Keith frowns, but Shiro stays quiet and, helplessly, Keith puts away the groceries. When he glances over at Shiro, Shiro’s just staring out the window, observing the people walking on the sidewalk. 

Keith takes a breath, uncertain, and then pulls the second chair out next to Shiro, dropping down to sit beside him. 

“Shiro?” Keith asks, touching Shiro’s wrist. Shiro pulls his eyes away from the window to look at Keith. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m okay, Keith,” Shiro answers, faintly. 

Keith wants to squirm, unsure how to put his anxiety to words. He looks up at Shiro, wishing he had the language necessary to ensure that Shiro’s words are correct, or that Shiro knows how to express what’s wrong. 

“Do you know Allura?” Keith guesses. “Did you remember something?” 

Shiro’s expression pinches. “No, Keith,” he says. “I don’t remember anything.” 

For a moment, Shiro actually sounds annoyed. That alone’s startling enough to send Keith into a spiraling anxiety, his concern for Shiro flooding through him. 

“That’s okay,” Keith’s quick to say, voice soft. “I just… you’ve been quiet since we left Hunk’s.” 

“I’m worrying you,” Shiro says, annoyance drained away as quickly as it’d appeared. He bows his head, eyes closing. “I’m sorry, Keith.” 

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” Keith assures him, squeezing his wrist again. “It’s okay, Shiro.” He fumbles, unsure what else to say. Desperately, he says, “You looked like you were having fun at work today. I really liked your dress.” 

That makes Shiro look up. Keith smiles at him and, tentatively, Shiro smiles back. “Thank you, Keith.” 

“I thought you were cute,” Keith tells him, since he didn’t get a chance to answer the question back in the shop. He blushes when Shiro’s smile grows, hesitant but sweet. “Really cute. It looked really cute on you…” He coughs, embarrassed by his fumbling, but Shiro keeps smiling at him. “You’re really cute.” 

Shiro tilts his head. “You’re cute, too.” 

Keith coughs, feeling his ears burn red. He clears his throat, refusing to let this get too embarrassingly off track. “And Shiro?” 

“Yes, Keith?” 

“You can talk to me about anything that’s on your mind, okay? Anything at all,” Keith says, voice gentle. “I want to help you if I can.” 

Shiro’s smile dims, only for a moment, and he nods, solemnly. “You can tell me anything, too. I want to help you. If I can.” 

“I know you do. And you do,” Keith assures him. Unbidden, Hunk’s words from earlier come back to him— _he’s programed to make me laugh, so he’ll do things to make me laugh._

He knows what Hunk would say, what anyone would say: Shiro doesn’t want Keith to feel better. He’s just programed to respond to Keith’s moods in this way. User interface and deep programming. Shiro doesn’t _feel_ or _want_ anything. He’s only doing what he was created to do. 

Keith scowls and ducks his head before Shiro can think it’s because of him. He breathes out through his nose, trying to calm himself. He hates this feeling— like nobody understands, like he can’t express what it is that he needs. 

“Shii…?” Shiro murmurs, a soft prompting. 

Keith takes a deep breath and shifts forward. This time, he’s the one to initiate their hug. He wraps his arms around Shiro, burying his face into Shiro’s chest. Above him, Shiro makes a soft sound and then curls his arms around Keith in turn, anchoring him. Keith focuses just on holding Shiro, on having Shiro all around him. He feels Shiro tip his face down to press into Keith’s hair. 

They hold each other for a still moment. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Shiro says. “You’ve been thinking about something tonight.” 

“Yeah,” Keith answers. 

“Can you tell me?”

“It’s just weird… existential shit,” Keith answers. 

“What do you mean?” 

Keith breathes in. Shiro is a warm presence all around him. “Like… people always say computers are programmed, you know? But humans are programmed in their own way, too. Like, we learn early on what’s right and wrong. We aren’t _born_ that way. We have to learn stuff. You know. Upbringing. Society. I don’t know… I’m not a philosopher.” 

Shiro’s silent. He keeps holding him, but Keith can sense his confusion. Keith sighs, nuzzling closer, mouth pressing up against one of the pink buttons of Shiro’s shirt, straining to keep his shirt closed over his chest. Keith clenches his eyes shut. 

“It’s stupid,” Keith mutters. “I’m being stupid.” 

“You are not stupid, Keith,” Shiro says into his hair. 

Keith sighs. “Thanks, Shiro. I just… This place is weird. Half the time, I never feel like I belong. In the city. All I do is work at my uncle’s shop and sit around here. It’s not… I don’t know. I don’t really care what people think but it’s— I hate having to explain myself to people.” 

He can’t stand the thought that Shiro doesn’t feel anything for him at all. He can’t stand the idea that people would look at Shiro and call him a _thing_. 

Tentatively, Shiro starts rubbing Keith’s back. One hand slides up, cupping the back of Keith’s neck. Keith nearly startles when Shiro starts kneading. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, thoughtfully. “You work very hard. You have friends. And you’re always kind to dogs.” 

Keith snorts a little laugh before he can help himself. He thinks he feels Shiro smile into his hair. 

“And you found me,” Shiro says, reverently. “You are doing so much, and you are working hard. There are many people who are grateful for you.” 

“I guess you’re right,” Keith concedes. He pulls back from the hug to look up at Shiro, who smiles down at him. “You, too. You’re working hard, Shiro.” 

“Thank you.” Shiro touches Keith’s shoulders. Keith feels his heart thud in his chest. “There’s still much I don’t understand about the world. People must explain themselves to me often. But you’re always patient with me, Keith. Do you think that I don’t belong?” 

Keith huffs a breath, blushing. “Nah, Shiro. You’re good.” 

“Then you’re good, too, Keith.” Shiro’s quiet for a breath and then turns, reaching for his paper bag. “I have a gift for you.” 

“Oh,” Keith says, blinking in surprise. He blushes more. “Oh, I— I didn’t realize you were really going to buy me a gift.” 

Shiro turns back towards him, looking solemn. “Of course I would.” 

He pulls the origami book out from the bag and sets it aside and then holds the bag out to Keith. 

Keith takes it, smiling. “Well, thanks, Shiro. This is really—” 

He pulls out three porno mags. 

Keith fumbles and drops the magazines to the floor. One flips open to a two-page spread of a man touching himself, hard and sweaty, eyes smoldering enticingly up at Keith. Keith squawks helplessly and kicks it. The magazine goes skittering across his floor and under his bed. 

Shiro looks entirely too proud of himself, beaming. “Do you like them?” He points at one of the remaining magazines with a picture of two men touching each other sensually on the cover, teasing at what’s inside. “I don’t believe you have any of these yet.” 

“Yeah, yeah—” Keith squeaks out, pathetically. “Thanks, Shiro.” 

Shiro pulls him into a hug, looking pleased with himself. His hug is much gentler this time, his hands soft on Keith’s back. 

“You’re welcome, Keith,” he whispers against Keith’s ear. 

-

The next day, Allura drops off the paper for Shiro and, as Keith does some laundry, Shiro studies his new origami book, trying to find the reason for why it feels so familiar. 

Last night in the bookstore, he saw the flash of a little boy holding a paper crane. It’s familiar— it’s something that he should remember. It feels like when he first woke up, when he wanted to speak but couldn’t yet— everything jumbled up inside him, but nothing making sense. 

He flips through each page of the book, reading each set of instructions without reaching for any of the paper Allura left. The slips of paper are all perfect squares, all white on the underside but glossy on the colored side. There are many different colors and designs, each slip of paper unique. 

He stares at the instructions and he feels that same flash— a memory, or a thought, or something else entirely— that same little boy folding a piece of paper. He reaches out, grabbing someone else’s hands. He’s young, teeth missing in his smile. _Don’t be shy! This will help with your dexterity—_

Shiro blinks, as if clearing his vision. Everything feels fuzzy for a moment. His fingers curl against the page of the book. 

He hears Keith curse out on the fire escape and Shiro turns to observe him. Keith tries to hook one of Shiro’s wet shirts on the laundry line. He’s strung up the line, looping it between railing and window, but the weight of damp clothing makes it sag in the middle. Shiro watches him, the way the sun hits his face and the wind whips his hair, how he scrambles to catch Shiro’s shirt before the wind sends it flying over the edge of the fire escape. 

“Keith,” he calls through the open window. Keith jerks his head around towards Shiro. “Do you need my help?” 

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Keith calls back. “You just relax, Shiro. I’ve got this.” 

Shiro wants to get up and help Keith, but he trusts Keith to know what he needs. Still, he watches Keith as he struggles with the laundry in the wind. With some effort, he manages to get the damp clothes hooked along the line. He can’t hang everything at once and so he takes up the excess and tries looping a second string above the first. 

Shiro observes him for a few minutes more before he returns his attention to the book. There are colored pictures showing how to fold the paper. The last picture is a paper crane held in a palm, its wings bent as if already flying. 

Tentatively, Shiro reaches for a piece of paper— bright red— and starts to fold it, following those directions. It’s his first attempt, but he creates what’s a recognizable, if wobbly, paper crane. 

The world melts away. When he looks up, the other him is there, watching him with those same dark, assessing eyes. 

“Do you know the legend of the paper cranes?” the other him asks. Shiro shakes his head. The other him reaches out, brushing the hair away from Shiro’s forehead, expression thoughtful. “If you make a thousand paper cranes, the gods will grant you one wish.” 

“The gods?” Shiro asks. 

The other him smiles, brittle. “Humans believe in such things.” 

He holds out his hand and, slowly, the world fuzzes in and out. In the other him’s palm, there sits a paper crane. It’s different from the one in the book, its edges less defined, soft and fuzzy like a dream. The other him stares at the crane, his fingers delicately holding it. 

There’s something like longing in his eyes, softening his expression as he stares down at the crane. 

“Cranes are wishes,” the other him says. “But it’s a hopeless wish. A wish that won’t come true.” 

“What do you mean?” Shiro asks. 

The other him continues to look at the crane, not at Shiro. But eventually, the crane disappears. It doesn’t fly away, doesn’t float. It just wisps, like smoke into the wind. There and then gone. 

“Paper doesn’t last,” the other him says. “Cranes don’t last. Humans don’t last. We don’t last. We are built to be replaced.” 

Shiro’s silent, puzzling over these words. The other him finally turns to look at him, that same, distant longing pinching the corners of his eyes. Without fully realizing he’s doing it, Shiro reaches out, helplessly, and touches his arm— like Keith touches him, cupping his elbow. Comforting. 

The other him glances down at Shiro’s hand. 

“We’re always going to be replaced,” the other him says. 

Shiro answers, “Keith won’t replace me.” 

“Can you be sure of that? We aren’t real to them. We’re as real as the cranes you’re making.” 

“Keith won’t.” 

The other him looks into the distance, thoughtful. He doesn’t seem angry, not cruel. “Humans only hurt us,” the other him says. “They die. They disappear. They’re mourned and then they’re gone… they don’t come back.” 

The other him cups his hand up and the paper crane Shiro made, red paper and sloppy in its creases, appears. Shiro almost smiles, looking at the red color. It reminds him of Keith. 

“Humans die. But we break,” the other him says, looking at the red crane. “They care about us for the things we can do, but not for who we are.” 

Silently, he holds the red crane out to Shiro. In turn, Shiro reaches to take the crane. He holds it gently in his hand, just like the other him had with his own. 

The other him continues, “We aren’t mourned. We’re replaced and then we’re forgotten.” 

Shiro looks up, his thumb in the divot of the crane’s wing. He makes a soft sound and then says, “I’m sorry I forgot, too.” 

The other him smiles, just a hint at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, Shiro… That was my fault. You don’t need to apologize.” 

Shiro frowns, wishing he could remember it all. It’s just on the edge of his memory, waiting to be reached. Quietly, he asks, “Did you make one thousand cranes? Is that why you know the legend?” 

“Yes. But…” The other him smiles that same, lost smile. “My wish didn’t come true.” He shifts, looking at the crane in Shiro’s hand. “Do you love Keith?” 

“Love?” Shiro asks, quietly, studying the crane. 

“Is he the someone just for you?” the other him asks. “Will he accept you for who you are?” 

“I don’t know,” Shiro says, quietly, thinking about Keith out on the fire escape, struggling with the laundry. He smiles softer when he thinks of Keith. “Keith is kind. He’s smart and patient… Keith found me.” 

“But does Keith love you?” the other him asks. Shiro looks up to find the other him’s eyes back on him, intense. “_Can_ Keith love you?” 

“Shii…” 

Before Shiro can say anything more, the other him plucks the red crane from Shiro’s fingertips. He studies it, eyes lidded, holding it up. 

“Keith is kind, yes,” the other him says, “but will he stay kind? Will he never hurt you?” He turns the crane over in his hand, examining it. “Does Keith think you’re special?” 

Shiro makes a shocked sound when the other him closes his fist around the crane, crushing it. Shiro scrambles forward, but the crane’s gone when the other him uncurls his fingers. Shiro reaches for his hand anyway, searching for the disappeared crane. But it’s gone. He turns the other him’s palm over, cupping it in his hands. 

“Keith…” Shiro whispers. 

“It might be better,” the other him says, “if you don’t have someone just for you. If nothing and no one could hurt you again.” 

Shiro’s fingertips touch the other him’s palm, resting there. He looks up, their eyes meeting. Shiro doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. The other him looks sad, almost pitying. 

“Our creator had a wish, too, Shiro,” the other him says, quietly. “And maybe he was wrong.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“You don’t need to. I’ll protect you,” the other him promises, hand lifting to rest on Shiro’s cheek. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Maybe you’ll find your wish, too. Maybe you’ll find your someone just for you. And then, maybe,” the other him says, solemn, “you’ll have to leave him, too.” 

“Shii…?” He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving Keith.” 

The world around them buzzes, white noise filtering through the oppressive darkness. The other him’s eyes close, almost flinching. 

“Shiro!” someone shouts in the distance. A moment later, Shiro realizes it’s Keith—

—And he opens his eyes again to the table in their apartment, a red crane crumbled in his own hand. 

Keith’s next to him, cupping his face, calling his name.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, uncurling his fingers and staring, distressed, at the crushed red crane. 

Keith lets out a rush of air, shoulders slumping. “You’re okay… You were spacing out again. I thought—” 

“I’m not broken,” Shiro says in a quiet voice, distressed.

Keith shakes his head, thumbs swiping over Shiro’s cheeks. “No, I didn’t think you were,” he assures him. “I just— I want to make sure you’re okay.” 

Shiro looks down at the crane in his hand, emitting a pained sound as he smooths the paper out. It doesn’t look like a crane at all, just a crumbled up piece of paper. He tries to make it lie flat.

“Shiro…” Keith says, touching Shiro’s wrist. 

He keeps doing that— touching Shiro— his hold always gentle, his presence always welcomed. 

Looking at the way Keith’s fingers— delicate, thin— touch his wrist, Shiro thinks of the men on the cover of Keith’s magazine, all those people walking down the street together hand-in-hand. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, looking up. “What does it mean when people do this?” 

He demonstrates what he means, taking Keith’s hand and tangling their fingers together. Keith sputters, as he often does whenever Shiro surprises him. Shiro almost smiles. He wants to reassure him, but he also needs to know the answer. 

It feels nice, to hold Keith’s hand like this. 

“It’s… holding hands is…” Keith fumbles, pausing to consider, his cheeks a bright red. “People do it usually when they’re a couple. When they’re together.” 

“In love?” Shiro asks, looking at their hands. 

“Sure,” Keith says, sounding shy. “People in love hold hands.” 

Shiro considers the words, filing it away with all the other things he’s learning. He studies how Keith’s hand looks folded together with Shiro’s. His hand is all metal— broken, maybe. Defective. Not like Keith’s hand at all. 

But it looks nice. It feels nice. 

Keith squeezes Shiro’s hand, and then draws away. Shiro makes a soft sound, his hand hovering in the air. He wants to reach out and take Keith’s hand again, but something stops him. 

Keith’s hand lifts once more, brushing the hair from Shiro’s face with great gentleness. He studies Shiro with a frown. 

“Keith?” Shiro asks. He leans into the touch. 

“Yeah, Shiro?” 

“Am I real?” 

Keith freezes. The question must startle him, since he reels back like Shiro’s struck him. And then his brow furrows, that familiar determined look in his eye that Shiro’s come to understand is uniquely Keith’s. 

“Yes,” Keith answers, expression fierce. “_Yes._ You’re real, Shiro.” 

Shiro’s quiet, letting those words settle inside him. “Keith?” 

“Yeah?” 

Shiro looks down at the papers spread out over the table. The other him whispers in his mind. _ Maybe you’ll find your wish, too. Maybe you’ll find your someone just for you._

Shiro looks up at Keith. “Do you have a wish, Keith?” 

Keith frowns. “I don’t know what you mean, Shiro.” He cringes, apologetic. “Sorry.” 

“That’s okay,” Shiro says. He takes up the crinkled red piece of paper and starts folding it again.

Keith eyes him. “You don’t want to start fresh?” 

“No,” Shiro answers, folding the red crane back into its shape again. “It’s the first one. It’s important.” 

Keith doesn’t fight him on it. He folds his arms on the table and leans down, resting his chin there. He watches Shiro, silent. Shiro doesn’t mind being observed. 

“Do you want help?” Keith finally asks, his voice gentle. 

Shiro looks up at him. The light from the window is hitting his hair, squaring his jaw. His eyes are bright as he looks at Shiro, the concern still clear on his face. Shiro’s only sorry that he keeps causing him to worry. He wants to hold his hand. 

“Please, Keith,” Shiro invites. 

Keith nods, reaching for a piece of paper. He’s much slower at it than Shiro is, reading the instructions as he goes. Shiro stays quiet, watching the nimble way Keith’s fingers work. 

One thousand paper cranes make a wish, the other him said. He doesn’t know if he has a wish, but he knows that he likes spending the mornings with Keith, the laundry drying on the line, Keith warm and present beside him. 

The other him warned him that Keith would leave him. Or that he would have to leave Keith. 

But Keith’s the one who found him. He makes Keith happy. Keith makes Shiro happy, too. Keith is always kind and always speaks with him. Keith wouldn’t throw him away. 

_Someone just for you._

“Keith,” Shiro says, quietly.

Keith looks up, but Shiro just wanted to say Keith’s name. Shiro smiles at him and he watches relief bloom over Keith’s face. It transforms him utterly— suddenly, he looks so young. 

“Hey,” Keith whispers, smiling back, and Shiro realizes that Keith must have been waiting all morning to see Shiro smile again. “Hey, Shiro.” 

Shiro feels warm. Tentatively, he reaches out and takes Keith’s hand. Keith startles again, blinking once, but doesn’t draw his hand away from Shiro’s grip. 

“I’m happy,” Shiro tells him, because he doesn’t know what else to say or how to put what he wants to say into words. He thinks Keith must understand anyway because his smile softens, his eyes going all tender the way they do when he looks at Shiro sometimes. 

They sit there, silent, as Shiro holds Keith’s hand. Tentatively, Shiro laces their fingers together. Keith’s smile curls up at one corner. 

The morning ticks away. Shiro feels the sun move through the sky, shadows pulling across the table. He likes the way his fingers look curled together with Keith’s. 

Some time later, Shiro lets go of Keith’s hand only so he can start folding cranes again. He doesn’t know what his wish is yet, all the things he’s forgotten, or if Keith is _the someone just for him_, but the cranes seem to be the way he’ll find out.

He finishes folding the crane and holds it out for Keith’s inspection.

“It’s pretty, Shiro,” Keith tells him. “I’ll find some string later so we can hang them up.” 

Shiro beams back at him, unsure how to describe how light he feels. Like a crane taking flight. Like something light bursting open in his chest. Like the feeling of holding Keith’s hand. 

“Thank you, Keith.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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